


There Must Be Something You Can Say

by SegaBarrett



Category: Phil Collins (Musician), Queen (Band)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-31
Updated: 2019-01-31
Packaged: 2019-10-19 18:37:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17606768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SegaBarrett/pseuds/SegaBarrett
Summary: Two meetings, five years apart.





	There Must Be Something You Can Say

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't know or own Queen or Phil.
> 
> A/N: Title is from "Another Day in Paradise".
> 
> A/N 2: Some of the Live Aid details came from "Mercury and Me".
> 
> CW: Freddie's illness/death mentioned.

**1985**

The first time Phil met Freddie Mercury, they were backstage at Wembley. Phil was wondering if perhaps he had bitten off more than he could chew playing both concerts, but he had said it and committed and if he was going to look like a wanker doing it, he would look like a much bigger wanker if he bowed out now. 

He thought back to Joely and Simon, running around the house yelling the lyrics to "Bohemian Rhapsody", and shuffled over awkwardly to the man. He wasn’t much taller than Phil, but Freddie looked larger than life as he hung a cigarette out of his mouth and, with his hands free, adjusted his belt and turned to smile at a mustachioed man beside him. 

“Hi,” Phil managed, “Can I get your autograph?”

Freddie extended his hand and a man behind him handed him a pen. Phil fished for a piece of paper and extended his own. 

“For you?” Freddie asked, raising an eyebrow in amusement. 

“For my kids,” Phil explained, wondering if that sounded defensive or not. Freddie chuckled and asked their names before jotting his signature. 

“Good luck,” Freddie said. “Opener is the hardest...”

“Good luck to you, too,” Phil said. Better not to apologize for not actually being there for their performance and being in the air instead. Too awkward all over again. 

Freddie grinned, covering his teeth. 

“Thanks.”

**1990**

If he saw him earlier, he didn’t recognize him at first, or maybe he was tooling over his own performance in his head for the most recent time, deciding all the places that it could go horribly wrong. Wasn’t he already going to come off as pretentious, being a millionaire and trying to tell people about the plight of the homeless? He was going to get run off stage. 

“Hey, Phil,” hissed a voice in his ear. He turned to see a guy he couldn’t quite place, who was intent on leaning so far against Phil’s ear that he was almost spitting on it. 

“What?” Phil barked back, a little hastily. 

“Look over there!”

Phil followed the finger to catch a glimpse of an arm connected to a blue suit. 

“Over where?”

The figure came into view, and Phil blinked a moment. 

“That’s Freddie Mercury,” the man said with thinly-veiled glee. 

Phil reached up to rub at his own eye and looked over. 

Freddie was standing, talking to Roger Taylor, hand gesturing backwards and upwards. 

Phil remembered now that Queen had been scheduled to play and had canceled. 

Phil brushed off the man and took a step towards Freddie and Roger, wanting to say something. 

But he found he didn’t know what. 

“You’d better get ready. They’re starting soon,” said one of the assistants for the awards. 

***

“Queen!” As soon as Terry Ellis announced them, the crowd leaned in forward, peeking at Freddie with curious eyes. The smile on Freddie’s face soon fell, and Roger looked about ready to thump half the crowd if need be. 

Phil wished that he had thought up something to say, something inspiring maybe. But what? 

His eye went to the sparkling gold band on Freddie’s finger. Well, that was new. 

***

Phil’s performance was an autopilot blur, but apparently a good one. At least he hadn’t psyched himself out. 

They gave him two awards, British Single of the Year and Best Male Artist. 

***

Phil was convinced that if he had ever had party days, they were over. He was ready to throw off this whole thing and go home and rest. 

He stood up and began to cross towards the door, when he heard a voice sing, “He walks on, doesn’t look back...”

Phil whipped around, mouth hanging open a bit, and found himself face to face with Freddie Mercury. 

“Freddie,” he managed, a good start. 

“They’re playing your song.”

“They are?” Phil craned his head and caught a few seconds of it. “Not really a party song.”

“Maybe.” Freddie smiled. “I saw you coming over earlier. What was that about?”

“I don’t even know,” Phil replied, “Thank you for the autograph, 5 years late. I had trouble showing my face after I ruined Live Aid.”

Freddie chuckled. 

“Giving yourself a lot of credit there, Phil. I can’t believe you got in a Concorde and did them both. Show off.”

“From the man who everyone said put on the best performance at either,” Phil reminded him. He gestured to the ring, wondering if any of his words were actually successfully coming out of his mouth or if he was just babbling. “Married, huh?”

Freddie brightened. 

“Oh, this? Yes!” He reaches out with his other hand to play with it. “You may not remember but you met him at Live Aid before you blasted off.”

“Moustache guy,” Phil declared.

Freddie grinned. 

“I generally call him ‘Jim’, but also accurate.” He gestured to Phil’s own ring. “Not so new, but you too.”

“Oh, yeah,” Phil replied. “And we just had Lily...”

Freddie chuckled. 

“I’ve a cat named Lily. Great minds.”

Phil took a seat by the corner of the room. Now he could hear, clearly, “Another Day in Paradise” playing over the speaker. It seemed detached, a little warbled. 

“It’s just another day for you, you and me in paradise...” Freddie sang along in a low voice. Phil watched him. 

***

“Anything for me?” Phil asked, picking up a stack of mail that Jill had left by the door. 

“There’s a check or something on top,” she called back. 

Phil picked it up and opened it, eyes widening at the amount that someone, anonymously, had donated to the organization he had promoted for the homeless. 

The writer had disguised his hand, but Phil peeked closely and recognized, at once, the “i”. 

**1993**

“And that’s a wrap on And the Band Played On!”

People were applauding around Phil as he stuck his hands in his pockets. 

He wasn’t in it long. A cameo, as a bathhouse owner. 

But maybe, 2 years after Freddie Mercury had flown away in the ashes, Phil had finally said something.


End file.
